Wednesday, September 26, 2012

This is Casey, I’ve hacked
this site, so you could say I’m guest blogging today:

How dare we try to keep our
wobbly elders on flat safe terrain!They
deserve the right to hike. Until it kills them, it’llno doubt keep them healthy and happy.

Today we examine a video that
I found on my… great aunt Cass Goldman’s PC. Turned out she can work the camera video,
Microsoft Movie Maker, and upload on YouTube.

http://youtu.be/JqZVgWiE_1E

Pretty amazing, right?

Never underestimate the stubbornness
of the old. They may ask you to do computer stuff for them if you’re around,
but if you aren’t, they’ll figure it out on their own.

What else do they have to do?

(That comment is going to get
me scolded if any old people read my large print blog.)

Dear old people reading my
large print blog. Please do not take anything I write as disparaging. I think
you guys are great! Especially my Great Aunt Cass. She’s why my blog is in
large print. Otherwise, I get scolded.

And just in case you didn’t
know. Young people do not like being scolded.

Or lectured.

Or turn the lights off

Or clean our rooms

Or tell anyone where we are
going

All for very good reasons.

We’ve already heard your loop
of lectures, and honestly, they didn’t help the first time you gave it, and
nothing’s changed.

If we turn the light off, the
room disappears. (I think that has something to do with Quantum Physics.)

And we don’t tell you where
we are going because 1) we don’t know, but anywhere but here sounds good. 2) We
do know, but you will tell us we can’t go there. 3)We change our minds a lot,
so wherever we tell you won’t be where we end up, and then you’ll think we’ve
lied to you.

I hope this helps older
people understand younger people better, and younger people to realize older
people aren’t dead yet. They can actually hike, work cameras, operate video
programs and upload to You-Tube.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

I am very worried about the apparent extinction of true
wildlife experts in the North East. You know, the brawny fellows who brave the
outdoors, keeping track of our wildlife? The guys who can recognize deer poop
from bear scat.

I fear they have all gone into modeling, since the only
place they show up anymore is on paper towels.

Instead, we are left with hypothetical wildlife experts, who
keep insisting that NO MOUNTAIN LIONS

/COUGARS/PUMAS LIVES ANYWHERE ON THE
NORTHEAST. So stop saying you see them. End of Discusion!

And no matter how many people report seeing them, these
hypothetical experts remain in their cubicle, insisting people cannot tell the
difference been coyotes, tabby cats, bobcats, and mountain lions. End of
Discussion. Really!

Then one day in June 2011, a non-existent mountain lion was
hit while crossing a Connecticut road by an all too real SUV.

While clearly not a coyote or bobcat, our hypothetical
experts refused to back down from their claim mountain lions do not exist on
the east coast. So they declared it someone’s illegal pet.

However, its DNA claimed otherwise.

It turns out—this was evidently a shocker—mountain lions can
cross state lines.

Perhaps our hypothetical Northeast experts thought a state
line is actually a barrier of thorn bushes twenty feet tall and eight feet
wide. Perhaps they have never left their cubicle and driven out of state.

I’m assuming they sit in their cubicle with a history book
at hand that assures them all mountain lions were eradicated by the end of the
19th century.

In the 1800’s, the east coast became infested with humans,
worse yet, humans with guns. This left the mountain lions only two choices:
either die or head west (just like the bears did).

Now the situation has reversed. While most easterners have
given up their guns, the west has acquired a great deal of them. With major gun
‘tote’ers now relocated into our ‘not many people want to live there’ states, the
mountain lions have headed back this way.

And why not? We have all these lovely patches of woods full
of rats, chipmunks, voles, moles, rabbits, squirrels, coyotes, feral cats,
birds, snakes, ground hogs and deer. Lots of deer.

“No!” insists the experts. “There is nothing for them to eat
here.”

Okay so what do normal mountain lions eat. Let’s look it up:
ah…they tend to eat deer and small
animals, including rodents.

Deer. Well, we have about a trillion of them. My little town
alone hunts and kills about 2,000 deer a year with our CARS. It’s an expensive
way to hunt deer, I grant you. Yet, we do it all the same.

So let’s see. Fewer gun tote’ers, nice patches of woods,
filled with deer… It’s no surprise that all across the Northeast people are insisting
mountain lions are wandering about.

Just to throw in my two cents. We have at least two mountain
lions here in Denville, NJ. Neither of which my dog wants anything to do with.
He’ll bark and insult our timid-bred bears, but not a mountain lion. When my
dog scents a mountain lion, she aborts the walk and pulls me back to safety. No
barking, no giving in. I must return to our car. Now!

I’ve no picture of our mountain lions, but one is larger and
one is smaller…perhaps her cub, grown into a teenager.

They like to dumpster dive by the old Peer Locke. And kill
deer in Nature Park. (It turns out when non-existent mountain lions kill a
deer, the deer actually dies and gets eviscerated.)

Also given the
teenage cub, I’m assuming there is a male somewhere about.

Between 1900 and 2010 they have 108 cases that provided sufficient
evidence to claim the pumas probably did actually exist (annoying dead bodies.)
but concluded ALL were released pets or illegal immigrants from the western
states. None were born here in the Northeast, thus per the immigration codes of
Pumas, they don’t count.

And neither does my Denville mountain lion cub, while
clearly born in Denville, since he probably came from an immigrant mother and
father.

Thus, even if a
mountain lion was born here, it doesn’t exist. So stop reporting its
whereabouts.

Even more devious, according to our hypothetical experts, the
mountain lion will be declared extinct unless they find three populations of 50
breeding adults.

I’m pretty sure before we got anywhere near fifty mountain
lions breeding an additonal fifty cubs a year, my little town would be actively
getting rid of mountain lions. And I would be right behind them. Well…way behind them, since Jess wants
nothing to do with mountain lions. Honestly, I’ll be hiding in my house waiting
for them to whittle the population back down to three.

Nor can I imagine any town in the Northeast willing to
tolerate a community of fifty breeding mountains lions and all their cubs. We
have small patches of woods, in the
thousands of acres. We aren’t Montana.

Thus, I must presume this excessively high criteria is to
ensure the mountain lion, under their criteria, cannot nor never will exist in
the Northeast again. (All actual mountain lions being labeled coyotes, illegal
immigrants, or pets.)

By doing so, the mountain lion will lose its protection in
the Northeast so each state can decide how many of these non-existent creatures
they can tolerate.

And that, may not be a bad idea. While I don’t mind two
mountain lions scaring my dog and ruining our walks on rare occasion, I won’t
be taking walks if there is a mountain lion posted every fifteen feet on my
trail.

I would much prefer smaller communities of mountain lions, widely dispersed,
and arranged marriages to prevent inbreeding.

Maybe our hypothetical, seemingly stupid, wildlife experts
aren’t dumb after all, but politically clever. If they can ignore all the
immigrant pumas wandering about and declare native born mountain lions extinct,
the animal will be removed from the protection list, thus allowing a sane management
program to be installed, rather than a ‘no kill ever’ policy that protects them
now.

In anticipation of my
first interview, I’ve done extensive research and discovered the following
revelations about Nikki:

Nikki is a mother of two, who's always had a dream to be a published author in the romance genre. Her passion lies the raising her children as readers, gaming, cooking, reading and her writing. Her mother can now breath easy about the child who used to get in trouble because she was hiding books everywhere and reading when it wasn't appropriate. She loves to write Interracial romances in all genres but wants to let everyone know 'to not box her in' because there is always room for growth.

Hi, Nikki. Thanks for
being brave and coming on my blog. So I gave you a long list of weird questions
which I made up and you managed to ignore them all. Should I be insulted?

Ummmm…..

Never mind, I forgive you. Now, what did you want to be when you were shorter?

I had so many things
I wanted to be as a child…hell as an adult.Such as a veterinarian, a fashion designer and a chef, but the one that
stuck has always been to be a writer.

What is a typical writing
day like for you?

I get the most done on weekends, as I still work a full time job and I am a full time mother. I write
whenever I can during the week.

Does that mean you take long
bathroom breaks at work and scribe on the toilet paper?

No.

Just checking. Do you have any specific items you need with you when
you write?

All I need to write
is my laptop. I multitask a lot while doing so.

I see that, but really, you
do not have to dust my house during the interview. I prefer dusty countertops.
That way I can write myself messages, like ‘wash Jess.’ Ah, now you’re washing
my dog. Please don’t. Just remain focused on my normal questions, which I have
blatantly plagiarized from other authors.

How does your family feel
about your writing and you being an author?

Everyone is quite happy with the fact that I have gotten
published.It has been something I’ve
wanted since I was 12.I drove my mother
crazy with reading when I shouldn’t.Now
she can smile as it paid off.

Yes, I can see how sitting in your room, reading would
disturb a parent when, instead, you could have been at an all-night-kegger, raided by cops.

This is a terrible
interview.

I warned you I’ve never done one before. Sit, I’ll behave.
I promise.

So…
How'd you come up with this story?

I was looking at a call
for submissions that had gone out for a succubus to be in a story.That story idea morphed into Demon Mine.

Describe your hero in five
words.

Sexy, dark, brooding and tattooed.

Hmmm, that sounds nice. Tell me more
about your story.

Samael is a fallen angel doomed to repeat his life and love for Liliana Jackson over and over again. That is until she finally remembers who she is and the reason for the curse that has befallen them both. For you see, Liliana was once Lilith, the first wife of Adam and the lover of Samael.

Are they doomed to keep repeating the past?

Or Will there be a new future for the reincarnated lovers?

Don’t ask me! You wrote
the story!

However, I think this would
make a great soap opera for the demon demographic or would that segment be
called the demongraphic market?

I have no clue.

That’s okay, I’m
frequently clueless. But I really like your story concept. Will you read me an
excerpt?

Will you behave?

I’ll try, but first, let
me send the little ones to bed for I expect this to be rated H for HOT.

“Out of here, you damn
mice!”

Okay, the little ones have
scampered off. Read to me…

Liliana
Jackson sat on the bed in the darkened room. Her breath was ragged as she
eagerly waited for her lover to arrive. The need she felt was always instant
when she thought of him. The slightest movement of cloth from her sundress
scraping over her hard nipples tortured her as her bare pussy dampened. She
glanced at the small clock on the wall opposite her bed. It would be only a
matter of minutes before he stepped across the threshold.

She
tried to be patient and wait. She let out a whimper, trying her best to wait
for him, but failing. Slowly, she slipped her dress up her thighs, baring her
shaved pussy to the air in the room, parting her legs while she leaned back
onto the pillows; her fingers teased along her slit in one smooth stroke. She
slid two fingers around her wet entrance, and then leisurely teased her clit.
Liliana inched one, then two fingers inside of her drenched folds with a moan.
She rocked her hips to push them in deeper as her head fell back against the
pillow.

She
groaned once more as she neared orgasm. One without him. He'd want to
punish her, and she'd welcome it. She loved it when he acted all badass around
her. In fact, she wanted it. Even as independent as she had always been, she
needed his commanding presence, lust and strength. It fueled all of those
things within her as well. His needs fed her needs. Her eyes moved to the door.
She grinned. There he stood, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over
his muscled chest. He looked angry—the edges of his mouth turned down and
narrowed eyes fixed on her undulating body.

"Hello, lover." Her words were a raspy purr of arousal.

Wow! Good thing I sent the mice off, or they’d be
procreating up a storm now.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Once upon a time, angry, pissed
off bears filled what would later be called the United States. Doesn’t matter if
you met a Grizzly or a Poorly Named Black Bear (called PNBB forthwith). They’d
both rather kill you for dinner than to let you breed more annoying, gun toting
humans.

In the area later called
Montana, bears did a fine job controlling the human population. However, the
PNBB, in what would later be called New Jersey, became infested with the
unwanted cockroach of two legged creatures. (I’m referring to humans…try to keep
up.)

To be fair, the Montana bears
had it easier. It took humans forever to reach their land, and if caught in
their just-arrived-nearly-starved and exhausted state, they were easy to kill
and eat, although the meat was a bit tough and boney. Secondly, not a lot of
their females wanted to go to Montana, so human breeding was spotty at
best.

However, New Jersey humans bred
like rabbits, and soon they filled up the entire state. They cut down all the
trees so they could farm the land or burrow beneath soil for iron ore, limestone
and other things the PNBB’s had no interest in. And back then, everyone carried
a gun. So the bears packed up and left NJ realizing that while they could kill
one human at a time, they would be utterly exhausted long before the humans went
extinct.

Eventually, the rest of the
states became difficult for bears, and some decided to return to NJ and live in
the new woods growing on the mounds of rocky rubble that had once been mining
communities. Some bears flourished and some did not. And that is the crux of my
story today, so pay attention.

The aggressive bears who left
the woods and stormed into the nearby communities were summarily shot. The less
aggressive bears who remained in the woods survived to have cubs. Do you see
where I’m going?

As time went along, the humans
claimed more and more of the woods, and if a bear stood his or her ground, out
came the rifle. (Let me clear, the human came out with the rifle. Bears have
never learned to shoot with any accuracy. If they had, a bear would be telling
this story instead of me, and his claws would be doing serious damage to the
keyboard.)

Now, a hundred years of
eliminating bears who wished to stand their ground and declare “I have a right
to be here!” has passed and with each generation of cubs born from the meekest
of the Please-Don’t-Shoot-Me Bears, our current day NJ bears are an
embarrassment to the PNBB society of bears. (51 word sentence)

Currently, our local police
forces will shoot a bear for just about anything: strolling into a backyard,
eating a pet rabbit left in an outdoor cage, tossing the garbage, or even
napping in trees near a house.

The population has become so
timid, that my dog and I have encountered two females with cubs and the females
did not attack. In one case, mamma bear didn’t even bother to show up and
complain and in the other, the mother lost track of her cub as she played Peek a
boo behind a tree with me. (I’m not making that up. It really
happened.)

We also ran into a giant 600
pound fellow who was only 30 yards away. My dog barked up a storm, saying all
sorts of things about his manhood and mother, yet the bear never once bared his
teeth. He just looked at me, looking at him. (He was the biggest bear I’ve seen
in real life, and I had absolutely no fear of him at all. He didn’t get that big
by scaring people. (Scaring people is also a shooting offense.) His silence
said, “I’m just here for the garbage, ma’am. Just walk on and take that annoying
fox with you.”

(Jess did not appreciate the
fox slur and called him a spineless cow in return.)

Currently a peace has settled
between human cockroaches and wimpy NJ bears. We can safely walk our patches of
wilderness, and they can live as long as they don’t frighten or annoy
us.

So what does our dopey, dare I
say ‘rotund’ governor do? He reinstates bear hunting season. Now the peace is
broken and for one week our woods are unsafe to travel in due to lunatic
hunters.

I’m inviting the bears to next
year’s bear hunt protest. They’ll be very docile, I promise. In fact, we’ll put
clothes on them so no one realizes they are bears.

But we human cockroaches and
our wimpy bears have a right to protest. Unlike the police who have been so kind
to remove the aggressive bears, the hunters just want to shoot the biggest
bear…or any bear for that matter. And in doing so they are messing up our secret
‘breeding wimps’ program and both my dog and I want it stopped.

Or we’ll send you to
Montana….

Yes this is a reprint from my other blog, but only five people read it and I wanted it to have a bigger audience.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

I’d like to share a moment when I decided to drive across the country to dig dinosaur bones in Montana. Instead of staying in seedy motels along the way, I decided to stay at Bed and Breakfast homes. They are much nicer, and oddly cheaper.

A B&B is not anything like a motel. People and pets live in the house. They also cook you breakfast (normally it's the people who does this, not the pets), listen to your endless chatter, and let you use their internet service.

And the best part is you don’t have to stay in your room. Instead, you can lounge out in the living room and ransack their bookshelves for reading material.

While I relaxed in a very comfortable chair as one of the house cats sniffed me over, one particular book on the shelf taunted me. Deviant Behaviors I wanted to know its content. Was it a medical journal? A sensational quasi-historical collection of famous deviant behaviors, or the latest best seller from Decadent Publishing?

Until the nice old woman, who's my babysitter, leaves, I am left pondering the matter. Technically, she’s watching the house for the owner, but I’m thinking the house wouldn’t require watching if I wasn’t here. So for all practical purposes she is my babysitter to ensure I don’t get into mischief, put the cats out …or read the book called Deviant Behavior.

Poor woman (she’s the owner’s mom-but that’s not why she’s‘poor’- she’s poor because she had to listen to my giant moose story (which someday I’ll blog about) and the similarity of my cat’s personality to their cat’s personality. (which I will never blog about that.)

Poor woman. I’m sure she didn’t sign up for such intensive babysitting.

“Mom, can you come over and make sure the guest doesn’t run off with the till…”

“Certainly dear. Shall I bring my gun?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. She sounded perfectly charming on the phone…a bit anal about her diet, but otherwise fine…”

Little did they know…

Bet she’s sorry she didn’t bring the gun now.

Poor, poor woman. The more I talked and made funny comments, the more she looked ready to call 911.

Eventually, I saved myself from expulsion by retreating to my room.

6 am I wake up and sneak downstairs to the bookshelf and take--you guessed it--Deviant Behaviors from the shelf. I am shocked by the content!

It’s a college text book of scientific papers on the following Deviant behaviors: taking drugs, child abuse, becoming a witch, riding motorcycles, being a delinquent, being a vagrant, being a criminal, having an odd career, having epilepsy, drinking too much, having mental problems, being a corrupt policeman, having a legal stigma, wishing to alter your sex, being a sadist or masochist, believing in UFO’s, becoming a taxi dancer, being a madam of prostitutes, being a road hustler, being a homosexual, being a role player, and my favorite: becoming a hit man (which is titled a VERY deviant career).

I swear on my sweet dog’s head that I did not fabricate or embellish that list of deviances. I faithfully wrote down the topic of each chapter. (While laughing hysterically—Epilepsy? Odd career? Riding Motorcyles? Really?)

The book discussed by chapter how psychotherapy can cure all these mental deviances.

I wonder if that frightened or encouraged the students of the class. Did they think: “My God, do I have to fix ALL of that!” or did they smile and exclaim: “The entire world is deviant—I’ll be a billionaire by the time I’m thirty.”

The deviant taxi dancer caught my interest because I wasn’t aware that anyone danced with taxis. Most people flutter their arms at them, yell and whistle, but I’ve never, in all my life, seen anyone dance at, with, or around a taxi.

So I went right to the taxi dancing chapter.

Taxi dancers are hostesses who dance and socialize with lonely men who wish to pretend they are on a date at what could best be described as an adult prom. The definition does not include bedroom services.

So why is this deviant? Well according to the paper, it is in direct contradiction to female-male relationships and it requires women to show/pretend an interest in men who may be different in terms of age, race and cultural background.

While I agree in female-male relationships that men do not normally want to dance, otherwise I felt the idiotic author was off the mark. Women have been pretending interest in men since the beginning of time. Do you really think a gorgeous model marries an old guy with weird orange hair who eats pizza with a fork and fires people on TV because she loves or has a great deal in common with him? Come on! There is nothing there to love…except his fame and money.

I’m not saying all women do this. But let’s face it. A lot of us settle, and while settling, money comes into consideration. Okay, he’s arrogant, ugly as crap, and that hair will give me nightmares in the morning, but he is famous, and while not nearly as rich as he puts on, he does know how to bellow and get stuff for free. What the hell. I’ll marry the duck.

However these taxi dancers are just paid to dance with men. They don’t have to marry them. So it’s a job. Has to be better than marrying the duck or waitressing. (I say that in half ignorance. While I have been a waitress, I have never danced with taxis and would never ever marry duck.)

Now that I am educated as to what a taxi dancer is, I ponder why are the taxi dancers labeled deviant, but the men pretending to like to dance while they make believe the paid dancers are their girlfriends are considered normal?

Same question for madams? Why aren’t the customers considered deviant?

Honestly, if we are going to use such a broad stroke on the word deviant, then let’s get them all: People who wear checkered golf clothes.

People who think the color orange is pretty. People who write novels about an 80 year old woman who comes back in a teen’s body.

People who write erotic romance novels. People who write blogs. People who write.

Let’s face it, we’re all deviant, if deviance means behaving in a way that someone, somewhere will disapprove. So embrace your deviances and let them shine. Say "look at me, I drive a motorcycle and hang with taxi dancers."

But for God’s sake, don’t call a hitman deviant…not online, not on the phone, and certainly not to his face. To do so is suicidal, and that my friend, is a deviant behavior.Yes, this was on my old blog site, but only 3 people viewed it, so I felt it warranted another chance.